Gordon won’t take food from a serving plate if I’ve served anyone else from it. There’s six of them at the table but I think she reckons she’s the grandest.’
‘You work in Gatti’s, don’t you?’ Reg asked, because the last speaker had an Italian accent. Gatti’s was the à la carte restaurant on board, run by Luigi Gatti, who also ran the restaurants at the Ritz in London. Passengers paid extra to dine there.
The chap nodded. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I don’t suppose you have a girl who comes in there, really slender, with copper-coloured hair? She’s drop-dead beautiful, about twenty-ish I’d say. I saw her on deck last night in a silvery-white dress, very low neckline,’ Reg motioned with his hands, ‘but she hasn’t been into our restaurant so I thought maybe she eats in yours.’ He wondered why he was asking. It made him sound obsessed. What would they all think?
The Gatti’s waiter shook his head. ‘They are mostly older couples in ours. I can’t think of a girl like you describe.’
‘Reg is in love,’ John teased, and this was met by a chorus of whistles and ‘wey-hey’ noises.
‘Course I’m not.’ Reg was regretting opening his mouth. ‘I only saw her once. I just wondered why she never comes to the dining saloon. I ’spect that’s why she’s so skinny.’
‘She might eat in the Parisien or the Verandah,’ one chap suggested. ‘Lots of the young ones eat in the Parisien.’
‘A few of them get food sent to their rooms. Only if they’re feeling under the weather, though.’
‘Perhaps she’s not in first class?’ Bill suggested. ‘There are some lookers downstairs as well.’
Reg considered it for a brief second, but there was no question in his mind. ‘She’s definitely in first. Keep your eyes peeled for me, will you?’
‘For you? Not if I see her first,’ Bill rejoined, and they all chuckled at the idea. In reality, none of them would ever try getting it on with an upper-class lady. It wasn’t the way things worked. You were born to a certain station and that’s where you stayed. For a saloon steward to have an affair with a first-class passenger would be like a donkey squiring a thoroughbred horse.
Reg wished John hadn’t said he was in love. It was quite the opposite really. He was curious about the girl from the boat deck but he instinctively disliked her for what she was doing. He was still wondering if there was anything he could do to protect Mrs Grayling from finding out about the affair. He considered asking John’s advice, but when he thought about it, he was pretty sure he could guess what the answer would be: ‘Ye daft eejit! Keep your nose well out of it.’
Chapter Nine
By dinner time on Saturday evening, Juliette was restless in her gilded prison. No matter how large the ship, there was no escape from the exasperating presence of her mother, and from the burden of class expectations, which were magnified a thousand times on board. Here were the crème de la crème of American society and a good few British aristocrats, all mingling together and watching each other closely for any lapse in standards. Not for a second could you swear, or burp, or put your feet up on a table, never mind attend breakfast without a hat. Brought up with a brother who was close in age, Juliette enjoyed tennis, cricket and tree-climbing rather than needle-point and bridge. She liked male conversations about politics and exploration and technology but when she tried to engage their companions in the reception room outside the dining saloon in speculation about what might have happened to Captain Scott, her mother was desperate to change the subject.
‘Really, Juliette, I’m sure the ladies don’t wish to talk about such things.’
Juliette ignored her and continued. ‘Mr Amundsen has returned triumphant so at least we know it’s possible. But the papers are saying that Scott’s party did not have enough supplies with them for this length of time. I
‘You work in Gatti’s, don’t you?’ Reg asked, because the last speaker had an Italian accent. Gatti’s was the à la carte restaurant on board, run by Luigi Gatti, who also ran the restaurants at the Ritz in London. Passengers paid extra to dine there.
The chap nodded. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I don’t suppose you have a girl who comes in there, really slender, with copper-coloured hair? She’s drop-dead beautiful, about twenty-ish I’d say. I saw her on deck last night in a silvery-white dress, very low neckline,’ Reg motioned with his hands, ‘but she hasn’t been into our restaurant so I thought maybe she eats in yours.’ He wondered why he was asking. It made him sound obsessed. What would they all think?
The Gatti’s waiter shook his head. ‘They are mostly older couples in ours. I can’t think of a girl like you describe.’
‘Reg is in love,’ John teased, and this was met by a chorus of whistles and ‘wey-hey’ noises.
‘Course I’m not.’ Reg was regretting opening his mouth. ‘I only saw her once. I just wondered why she never comes to the dining saloon. I ’spect that’s why she’s so skinny.’
‘She might eat in the Parisien or the Verandah,’ one chap suggested. ‘Lots of the young ones eat in the Parisien.’
‘A few of them get food sent to their rooms. Only if they’re feeling under the weather, though.’
‘Perhaps she’s not in first class?’ Bill suggested. ‘There are some lookers downstairs as well.’
Reg considered it for a brief second, but there was no question in his mind. ‘She’s definitely in first. Keep your eyes peeled for me, will you?’
‘For you? Not if I see her first,’ Bill rejoined, and they all chuckled at the idea. In reality, none of them would ever try getting it on with an upper-class lady. It wasn’t the way things worked. You were born to a certain station and that’s where you stayed. For a saloon steward to have an affair with a first-class passenger would be like a donkey squiring a thoroughbred horse.
Reg wished John hadn’t said he was in love. It was quite the opposite really. He was curious about the girl from the boat deck but he instinctively disliked her for what she was doing. He was still wondering if there was anything he could do to protect Mrs Grayling from finding out about the affair. He considered asking John’s advice, but when he thought about it, he was pretty sure he could guess what the answer would be: ‘Ye daft eejit! Keep your nose well out of it.’
Chapter Nine
By dinner time on Saturday evening, Juliette was restless in her gilded prison. No matter how large the ship, there was no escape from the exasperating presence of her mother, and from the burden of class expectations, which were magnified a thousand times on board. Here were the crème de la crème of American society and a good few British aristocrats, all mingling together and watching each other closely for any lapse in standards. Not for a second could you swear, or burp, or put your feet up on a table, never mind attend breakfast without a hat. Brought up with a brother who was close in age, Juliette enjoyed tennis, cricket and tree-climbing rather than needle-point and bridge. She liked male conversations about politics and exploration and technology but when she tried to engage their companions in the reception room outside the dining saloon in speculation about what might have happened to Captain Scott, her mother was desperate to change the subject.
‘Really, Juliette, I’m sure the ladies don’t wish to talk about such things.’
Juliette ignored her and continued. ‘Mr Amundsen has returned triumphant so at least we know it’s possible. But the papers are saying that Scott’s party did not have enough supplies with them for this length of time. I
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